


A Whole Is But The Sum Of Its Parts

by thetamehistorian



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, M/M, ManDadlorian, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Post Chapter 16: The Rescue, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetamehistorian/pseuds/thetamehistorian
Summary: He has a name, a place to start. He’s found bounties on less than that.A tiny spark reignites in the emptiness in his chest which Din will later recognise as hope.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin/Paz Vizsla
Comments: 34
Kudos: 340
Collections: Covert Discord New Years Fic Exchange





	A Whole Is But The Sum Of Its Parts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoffeeQuill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeQuill/gifts).



> Coffee, merry (belated) Christmas! I hope you enjoy this little fic and that it helps you recover from the finale!
> 
> Mando'a translations are available on hover and in the end notes if needed!

**_Part One: The Progression_ **

In the minutes after the door shuts on the Jedi and the kid, Din floats.

Around him, he is vaguely aware of things happening, of Bo-Katan and Koska arguing, hands flailing and gesturing, of Fennec pulling a comm out and getting in touch with Fett to sort transport off the cruiser, of Cara coming over and lifting his helmet up off the ground and offering it to him.

He takes it and turns it in his hands until he is looking into the visor.

It was the last sight that many people saw, the metal and glass reflecting their own expression back at them. Now, he has broken his creed not once, but twice, and yet he can’t bring himself to regret allowing Grogu to learn the face behind the mask.

He doesn’t put it back on.

He did before, because it was done to save a foundling, and he could reconcile that with the teachings ingrained into him as a boy. But the second time, this time, it was entirely self-serving and until he’s worked out where he stands, what he believes, he’s not going to dishonour his armour further.

“Mando?” Cara’s voice breaks through the ringing in his ears. He can’t help but admire that she is still avoiding looking at his face. His lack of response must be alarming her, really it should be alarming him too. Regardless, it’s enough for her to tentatively speak his name. “Din?”

“I’m here,” he replies.

He doesn’t say that he’s alright because they both know that would be a lie.

“You going to put that back on?” she asks.

He considers the helmet a moment longer. “Not yet,” he settles on. Then, because what’s one more transgression now? “You can look.”

It takes her a minute, but eventually she does. She doesn’t really react, which is nice, and she says nothing about the way he can barely make eye contact without flinching.

“May I?”

Her hand hovers just out of reach and he nods, closes his eyes against the sensation of someone touching his bare skin for the second time that day, as Cara’s fingers gently swipe across his cheeks, wiping away the evidence of his brokenness. She avoids the place where Grogu reached out for him and for that, he knows he will be forever grateful.

“Fett’s here,” Fennec announces.

He turns and finds that she’s heading for the doors, dragging Gideon’s unconscious form behind her. Bo-Katan and Koska are watching, and they’re both still angry, he can tell, but he can’t find the energy to confront them, so the darksaber remains on his belt as he turns to follow Fennec and Cara.

Bo-Katan doesn’t try to stop him.

He leaves the darksaber secured to a crate in the main hanger. He never wanted it. Perhaps, with him out of the picture and out of reach, Bo-Katan will be able to swallow her pride and claim it. Either way, it’s no longer his problem.

Gideon is secured in carbonite in short order and then Fett and Fennec retreat to the cockpit, leaving him with the offer of dropping him off somewhere if it was on route as they head towards New Republic space in order to make contact with a patrol. Cara retreats to the bunks and he’s completely alone for the first time since it happened.

He shifts, tries to get comfortable in the unfamiliar seat, and feels something digging into his side. Before he’s pulled it out, he knows what it is.

It’s the ball.

He almost breaks all over again at the sight of it.

How many times had he found Grogu trying to steal this? How many more had he been forced to pry it from his hands to put it back where it belonged? He’d given up in the end, of course, when it seemed that no matter what he tried, the kid and his improvised toy would not be parted.

He turns it over and over in his hand, aware that he has no place to return it to this time. The Razor Crest is lost, and this is all that remains.

On the next rotation, the fixing where the ball screwed onto the control stick catches his eye and he finds himself lifting it up to the light, wondering. Unbidden, his free hand reaches for the toolkit that Fett left him, ostensibly for the purpose of making repairs to his armour. It is the work of but a few seconds to make the modification and soon he can hold it up to the light and see all the way through the hole he has drilled to the other side.

There is thread in the kit, but Din has no intention of using it for the purpose it was designed for. Instead, he measures out a length long enough, cuts, twists, threads the ball onto it and, with only a moment’s hesitation, ties it around his neck.

With a slight adjustment to the knot, the ball lies beneath his armour, over his heart.

Grogu may not have his toy, but he has the mythosaur pendant still - Din knows because he checked that Gideon hadn’t taken it from him - and this way, they have a piece of each other.

It’s a small comfort but something within him settles at the thought, and at the familiar-yet-unfamiliar weight around his neck.

He drifts, sleeps.

When he wakes, Cara has joined him again, and is sat across the hold, playing with the mechanism on her gun. She glances up as he moves, eyes flicking to his face, still bare, and away again, then back. She shifts, awkward, and he watches as she opens and closes her mouth a few times before she commits to the words.

“He’ll be looked after.”

“I know,” he says. The Jedi had said as much. It didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Skywalker is a good man.”

What? “Skywalker?” he croaks around a parched throat.

Cara stops what she’s doing to look up at him properly. “The Jedi?” she asks, probing. “Skywalker? Luke Skywalker? The man who blew up the first Death Star?”

His breath catches at the unexpected information.

“I, I didn’t know that was him.”

Cara gives him a look of exasperated tenderness. “You didn’t think to ask?”

He hadn’t. His focus had been entirely on Grogu, and completing the quest the Armourer had set him on, without completely breaking down. Grogu who, just a few hours ago was completely out of his reach, is suddenly no longer entirely lost. He has a name, a place to start. He’s found bounties on less than that.

A tiny spark reignites in the emptiness in his chest which Din will later recognise as hope.

The credits, his cut of the reward from Moff Gideon’s bounty, are burning a hole in his pocket, but he wants to be sure before he commits to spending them. Nothing will ever replace the Crest, not really, and he’s willing to look for longer than most to find a good substitute.

Fett had offered to take him to Tatooine, if he wanted, had even offered him a job there. Cara had done much the same for Nevarro.

He had considered both of their offers but ended up deciding to take his own path. There were too many memories wrapped up in those places and the loss was still too close. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to bear it.

Instead, he chose to head to one of the many planets around with a decent shipyard, to go shopping.

In the wake of the kidnapping and rescue of Grogu, he had spent some time working through a plan of action. Some things were lost forever – the creed that he had once adhered to, even to the death, was one he can no longer claim to follow, and he is learning to live with that. Grogu is, out of reach, but only temporarily, he has enough information that he could find him, if he had to. His last remaining tie to his old life, the Mandalorians of the Covert, are scattered, but if he can find a decent ship, he might stand a chance of finding some of them.

What he’ll do when he finds them, he’s not sure. He’ll deal with it when he gets there.

So, a new ship it is – two birds, one stone.

He wakes early, a hangover of his profession and raising a toddler both, dresses briskly, armours up, and considers his helmet briefly before he slides it on, ready for the walk from the town to the shipyard to have a look around at whatever pre-Empire vessels they might have for sale.

It’s as he walks through the marketplace that he spots them.

Ahead of him, haggling with a weapons dealer is a figure he knows. Blue armour, a familiar silhouette. He speeds up his steps just a little.

It can’t be. It is.

“Paz?” he asks, voice caught between uncertainty and wonder.

The man turns, startled, hand reaching for his blaster, but the moment he spots him the motion jerks to a stop.

“ _Din’ika_?”

Not _beroya_ , not ‘Mando’, just Din. Little Din who Paz had dragged into games, befriended, saved, long before animosity began to grow between them, long before Nevarro. It’s probably a slip of the tongue, born of surprise, because Paz hasn’t called him that since they took the creed.

Hearing the old nickname is almost painful, almost enough to shatter him.

It might have done, if Paz hadn’t followed up the exclamation with a punch. Din doesn’t even try to dodge it. He figures he deserves it, for taking the bounty on Grogu in the first place, for handing the kid in, for forcing them to reveal themselves at incredible cost.

He falls, lies dazed on the ground with the force of it, and waits for the next blow.

Only it doesn’t come. Paz’s helmet appears hovering over him, as he looks him up and down in the manner of a soldier checking another for injuries.

“Din?” he asks, voice softer now, because Paz has never been one to hit a man when he’s down. He always preferred a fair fight. “You alright?”

He chokes on tears and laughter. What a question.

“No.”

Somehow, he knows Paz is frowning under the helmet. Paz looks around as though searching for something and then, when he doesn’t find it, whatever he’s thinking about clicks into place.

“Din, where’s the kid?”

“Gone,” he says.

Paz’s rage is an incandescent thing. Stand too close and you get burned, and right now Din is both target and bystander, so he hastens to elaborate before Paz can get the wrong end of the stick.

“He’s with his own kind.”

There is a moment as that sinks in, and then Paz slumps and the anger bleeds out of him. A hand is offered down and he takes it, allows his brother-in-arms to haul him back to his feet.

“I’m sorry, _vod_.”

Din nods in acceptance. Neither of them moves to pull away.

Around them, the market continues to wake. Suddenly, Din’s plan to go to the shipyards seems trivial in the face of the unexpected reunion he has been gifted.

“You want some caff?” Paz asks after a moment.

Din looks down at where Paz’s hand is still holding his arm, and his own fingers are tangled in the larger warrior’s sleeve. He finds that he doesn’t want to let go.

“Ok.”

Paz’s house is a humble thing, but well looked after. It doesn’t escape Din that all of the furnishings are second-hand, and the personal items are all small and portable, ready to move at a moment’s notice like a true Mandalorian.

The thought sticks in his head because he has one more confession to make and, in a way, he’s glad they can get this out of the way in private.

It also hasn’t skipped his notice that Paz has, on the way to the kitchen, flipped the spare chair so that they are back-to-back.

“Paz? There’s something you need to know.”

The clattering pauses as Paz stops to listen.

“Yes?”

Din swallows, tries to rearrange the words as though they’ll have less impact in some other configuration. In the end, he just summons what remains of his courage and says it.

“I,” his fingers twist together anxiously. “I broke the creed, Paz.”

Silence.

“What do you mean you broke the creed?”

There is no judgement in Paz’s voice, no anger, and maybe that’s worse. A lot of people tended to assume that Paz lived up to the stereotype of the phrase ‘long memory, short fuse’, but Din knew that he could be surprisingly philosophical about the big questions.

“I took off my helmet in front of another.”

“To save a foundling?” Paz asks. He sounds closer and when Din looks up, he’s standing in the doorway, observing him.

The question makes sense. Din knows for a fact that the only way the people who raised them would accept the breaking of this tenet of the creed, would be if the action was done to save a foundling.

“The first time,” he admits, quietly.

Paz leans against the wall, arms crossed. Din can’t tell if its disappointment or resignment in Paz’s posture. He braces himself for either, for the demand that he remove his armour and return it to those worthy of wearing it.

“When we fled Nevarro,” Paz says instead, “we had to scatter to be safe. In my travels, I have come across others who follow the _Resol’nare_ differently, I’ve had time to think on it.”

With a sigh, Paz gives him a long, searching look. Then, before Din can react to his implied acceptance, he reaches up and takes off his helmet, and Din can’t help the flinch, the shock, nor the way his gaze immediately darts away.

“Look at me,” Paz orders. “It’s alright, _Din’ika_.”

Although Din hasn’t seen his comrade’s face since before they swore to the creed, he still recognizes enough features to know, without a doubt, that it is Paz Vizsla in the flesh, not some imposter.

“What?” he manages.

“You’re not the first to see my face,” Paz says. He looks like he’s comfortable in his own skin, which is confirmation enough that the statement is true. “I have learned that removing your helmet does not equate to breaking the _Resol’nare_. That there are other ways to follow the teachings.”

Din had anticipated rejection, had anticipated a fight. He could never have anticipated this.

He stands there, frozen, unable to muster a response.

Paz sighs again, his face so expressive it’s jarring to watch, and places his helmet down on the table with a certain finality. He flips the chair back around. An offer and a challenge.

“Would you still like some caff? You can tell me the whole story.”

The question jerks him out of his daze and with less hesitation than he expects, he finds himself reaching up and taking off his own helmet, setting it down beside the larger blue one.

Paz hands him a mug, and he starts to talk.

When he gets to the end of his tale, Paz is frowning, his hand tracing patterns on the tabletop. He glances up, still not used to eye contact, and thinks he sees both concern and resolution on Paz’s face.

“You came here to get a ship?”

“I – yes.”

“And you know enough to find out where your kid is?” Din nods, a gesture that Paz returns with determination. “Then let’s make sure he has a home to come back to, when we go and get him, yes?”

There is no question, no consideration for Paz that Grogu is gone for good, that he won’t one day be reunited with him.

He doesn’t know what his face is doing, he’s never had to worry about it before, but it must be doing something because Paz takes one good look at him and reaches around the table to pull him into a tight embrace.

Din’s world rights itself just a little as another piece falls back into place.

When he arrives on the planet, just close enough to the Core to be considered safe, just far enough away to be practically unknown, he’s not sure what sort of reception he’s going to get.

He’s been running jobs with Paz in their new ship, the _Ijaat II_, for a few months now. Mostly light guild work, to Greef Karga’s delight, to get back into the swing of things. It’s been surprisingly nice, working with Paz again.

The problems they had on Nevarro aside, they are both learning to live with their new ways of following the creed, stumbling through the revelations and uncertainties together. Neither of them are the same men that fought in the forge on that dreadful, life-changing day. They have both changed and, in many ways, that is what helps them overcome their disagreements. Din considers them friends. He might even, tentatively, consider them more than that.

Either way, Paz has been encouraging him to take this trip for almost as long as they’ve had the ship, but now that he’s finally here, he’s not sure how to proceed.

What he certainly isn’t expecting is for the Jedi, the one who answered Grogu’s call, to be standing outside the building that must be the temple, waiting, with Grogu in his arms. He’s definitely not expecting the Jedi to set the kid gently down as he approaches, to do nothing but stand and watch as Grogu comes running to him.

When the Jedi gives no indication that he’s going to interfere, Din crouches down and catches Grogu, lifting him and adjusting him easily into the crook of his arm as he has done hundreds of times before.

The moment the kid is back in his grasp, he feels something in his chest ease, as though a missing part of his soul has just been returned to him.

Grogu babbles away happily. He’s in new robes, smarter than anything Din had for him, but he catches a glimpse of familiar leather cord and can’t fully suppress the sensation of relief that the kid has been allowed to keep the mythosaur pendant. Briefly he shows Grogu his own necklace, the ball now scuffed from constant wear.

His little hands grab onto his sleeve, the edge of his armour, and he settles into place as though he had never left.

“Come,” says the Jedi after a long moment, allowing them a moment of privacy for their reunion, “there is much Grogu wants to show you.”

Luke, as he formally introduces himself, gives him a tour of the temple and the land around it. Occasionally, he translates for Grogu, when the babbling picks up a gear. It’s clear the kid is happy here. His room has toys, and when they reach the pond he tries to escape to chase the frogs.

Luke’s easy acceptance of his presence back in Grogu’s life does give him pause though, makes him wonder if the Jedi has an ulterior motive.

“What’s on your mind?” Luke asks and, not for the first time, Din curses the abilities these Jedi have, the unnatural awareness of his state of mind.

“The other Jedi I found, the one that led me to Tython,” he starts, cautious, “she wouldn’t train him because he was attached to me. She said that it could lead to bad things. Is that true?”

Luke hums thoughtfully. “I can’t speak for her, perhaps her experience has been different, but I have seen both good and bad things come from attachment. It can hurt, yes, but it can also save. It is true of everyone, not just Jedi. Selfish love can lead to terrible things, it is a lesson my own father learned at great expense.” Din blinks, surprised by the admission. “Your bond is not like that,” Luke continues, as though he hasn’t just given Din a massive piece of leverage. “I would have to be blind to miss it, but your love for each other is selfless. When the time came, you were willing to let each other go.”

“That’s why you didn’t try to hide your identity,” he realises.

He had shown his face and his droid on the Imperial cruiser, both well known to the New Republic and easy information to gain, and hadn’t even tried to shield his ship’s beacon. For a bounty hunter, a Mandalorian, that was more than enough to track someone down.

And Luke knew it.

“Grogu needs to finish his training,” Luke says, “but training alone will not make him happy. He needs you as well.” Luke stops walking and looks at him head on. “I can be his teacher, but you are his father.”

He still isn’t used to hearing it, doesn’t really feel worthy of claiming the title. His task had been to return Grogu to his kind, his fatherhood was always going to be temporary. It was why he’d never taken the adoption vow, aware that at any moment he might find a Jedi, knowing that it would be all the harder to let the kid go if he had claimed Grogu as his son.

“How long will it take?” he asks. “To train him?”

Luke looks up at the sky for a moment and Din dreads an ambiguous answer, or worse, a time limit beyond his lifespan. How long is a piece of string, he thinks? Grogu is different, he’s still a baby really, do any of them have any way of knowing how long it will take for him to master his powers?

“Another year or two, I think,” Luke says, jerking him out of his musings. “He has a fairly firm grasp on the basics from his time at the Temple, before. It’s a matter of fine-tuning, and being sure that he knows right from wrong.”

Din stops dead in his tracks, that little flicker of hope fanning into a flame.

“A few years?”

“You can visit him if you want,” Luke offers, misinterpreting his response. “Once his training is finished, you are welcome to take him home with you. I will not separate you as I was separated from my family.” Din is stunned. “Although,” Luke adds, sheepish, “he may need to come back occasionally, for extra tutelage.”

Din is still trying to wrap his mind around the idea that, in but a few short years, he could bring Grogu home and take the adoption vow, could officially be Grogu’s father, and stand a chance of raising him, seeing him grow up. All of the things he had refused to let himself dwell on during their travels.

It’s overwhelming.

“Din?”

He brushes a hand over Grogu’s ear and the kid twitches slightly in his sleep, relaxed and trusting in his embrace, and long worn out from telling him everything he could about his life as a Jedi in training.

In that moment he makes a promise, to both of them, that the minute Grogu is deemed ready to leave Luke’s school, he will adopt him properly and do this right.

Luke makes a noise as, whether through intuition or weird Force stuff, he suddenly works out why Din has been so caught by his words. In return, he offers just two, but they have the weight of hundreds.

“Thank you,” he says. Then, to Grogu, dozing in his arms. “Did you hear that? Only a few years. I’m so proud of you, kid.”

**_Part Two: The Resolution, 17 Months Later_ **

Din wakes to the sound of his comm beeping.

In the quiet of the early morning, the sound is piercing and, behind him, he can hear Paz shifting as he too wakes. It is the curse, perhaps, of the life of a warrior, to be so easily roused from rest. The comm beeps again, even as he fumbles to reach and switch it off.

Besides, who would be calling at this time? Certainly not Cara.

“It’s three in the morning,” Paz grumbles, annoyed, voice rough.

Finally, his fingers close around it and Din twists his comm in his hand, intending to turn it off and go back to sleep, when he spots who the message is from and halts. His heart immediately kicks up a gear as he sits up and opens it, full of fear, anxiety, and then, as he reads through, surprise, which melts into delight. Before he knows it, his eyes are filling with tears entirely without his permission.

“Din?” Paz asks, concerned, rubbing his eyes. He must have sensed his change in mood. “Is something wrong?”

Warm arms envelope him from behind and he relaxes easily into the offered embrace. He’s not a small man by any means, but there’s something about being wrapped in Paz’s arms that never fails to make him feel surrounded and safe.

“It’s Luke,” he offers, tasting the words on his tongue with care, as though they would disappear if he said them too loud. “Grogu’s ready.”

Paz hums into his neck, and he feels the tension drain out of his partner as he leans back against the headboard. For a brief moment, the arms around him tighten, the squeeze grounding and comforting in equal measure, and then Paz reaches for the light switch. It’s clear that he knows there is no way Din is going to be able to get back to sleep now.

This is the moment that he has been waiting for since that day at the Temple. His son is coming home.

“Paz,” he says, turning just enough to see a matching smile.

“I know,” Paz replies. One hand reaches out and caresses his moustache with a light, near ticklish touch, shifts to wipe away tears. “You should get cleaned up _Din’ika_ , you don’t want to turn up looking like a mess and make a bad impression now, do you?”

He pulls back slightly, tries to look offended at the implied slight, but he can’t stop grinning. Paz draws him in for a quick kiss and a _Keldabe_ and then gives him a light shove in the direction of the fresher. No further words are needed.

Din is grateful for the instruction, for Paz’s guidance, as it gives him something to focus on and settle his sudden nerves. He takes his time washing up, trimming his hair and beard carefully. Then he settles down in their living space to polish his armour within an inch of its life to the sound of Paz moving around in the bedroom, determined to look his best.

The sun is just rising when Paz emerges to find him carefully cleaning his helmet, the final piece of his _beskar’gam_. The rest is piled on the chair beside him, gleaming.

“Much better,” Paz says.

Din looks up and finds Paz smiling gently. The _al’verde_ has dressed, but as he walks past Din sees that he’s holding a bag and a small pouch of credits as well.

“What are you doing?” he asks, confused.

“Going to the market.” There is clattering in the kitchen and then the sound of the caff machine clicking on. “Got some stuff I need to grab.”

“Stuff?”

Paz rounds the doorframe, sipping from a cup, and offers him another.

“Today is an important day,” he declares simply. “Your son is coming home, which means you can finally adopt him by creed.” It is not spoken as a question, but rather a command, as though Din hadn’t already intended to take the vow the moment Grogu was back in his arms. “That is something worth celebrating, is it not?”

Din hums in agreement, drinking his caff a little faster than is really advisable. It burns down his throat in the same way as his eyes sting, though he’s not sure whether it’s from the heat, or Paz’s thoughtfulness.

“You want me to wait for you?” Din asks, even as every beat of his heart urges him to run for his ship, for his son.

Paz, his _kar’ta_ , gives him a long look. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

There is an unspoken promise not to intrude upon this important moment between parent and child and if Din hadn’t already been in love with Paz, that would have done the trick.

Din swallows and stands, setting his cup down and reaching for his helmet. He heads for the door, where the sunlight is beginning to bleed through, and the sounds of the town waking break through the birdsong. He has a hand on the control when the thought occurs.

“Paz,” he hesitates. “At the market, could you pick something up for me?”

“Yes?”

“You remember the recipe for _uj_ cake?”

Paz sits down with a nod as though the request makes perfect sense, even though _uj’alayi_ isn’t typically made outside of festivals and then kept until needed.

“Of course.”

They share another moment of soft smiles and loving looks and then Din is shoving his helmet on and running.

His son is coming home.

Just like the last time he visited, Luke is waiting outside the Temple with Grogu in his arms. The only difference is that, this time, there is a small bag set at his feet full of Grogu’s things.

As Din takes Grogu from his teacher’s arms, or rather, as he catches Grogu, who has all but thrown himself into his embrace, Luke passes him a datapad with some information on the Force for the kid in the years ahead.

He tucks it away into his belt and gathers up the bag. The kid is babbling away again, although some of the noises sound more like words than they used to. The thought warms him, that he might soon be able to fulfil another of the _Resol’nare_ and teach the kid the language of his people, Mando’a.

“You ready, kid?” They say their goodbyes and then Din readjusts his grip on Grogu. “Want to take this bit with the windows down?”

He gets a happy squeal in the second before he ignites his jetpack and then it’s just the two of them again, Grogu screaming in delight at the sensation of flight, all the way back to the ship.

On board, Grogu perches happily in his lap as he runs through the start-up sequence. He has to catch himself a couple of times as muscle memory moves him to reach for switches that aren’t there. Even after more than a year of piloting the _Ijaat II_, he still finds himself expecting it to be the Razor Crest at times.

Once he has set the hyperdrive co-ordinates and hit the ignition to send them home, he looks down at his son and breathes, free and easy.

It is time.

As much as he hates to drag Grogu away from his favourite space-travel pastime of watching the stars streak past in hyperspace, this is important, and he is going to need his full attention.

With gentle hands, he turns Grogu around so that they are facing each other. Almost immediately, Grogu is reaching for his helmet, asking for it to be taken off.

Din catches his hand before it can make contact.

“Grogu,” _Manda_ , the kid still perks up at the sound of his name. “I need you to listen, ok? This is important.” Grogu tilts his head and falls silent, eyes fixed on his visor. “I would like to adopt you, to make you my son under Mandalorian law and raise you as my own. Would you like that?”

Like his _buir_ had once done for him, he offers his charge the choice. It is only right.

Although Grogu can’t say the words of confirmation yet, the happy sounds and the jumping give him a fair indication. Still, he waits for the brush of something _other_ at the back of his mind that he has come to recognise as Grogu, and senses joy, and acceptance, and love.

It is only then that he reaches up his hands and lifts the beskar barrier away.

“ _Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad_ , Grogu.”

His son, his _son_ , smiles and holds up his hands. Din lifts him into a _Keldabe_ , and then lets him explore his face to his heart’s delight.

“Ah,” the kid says as he brushes his moustache. “Batoo.”

Din chuckles and gently pulls his hands away. Sets them on his cheeks where they won’t tickle as much.

“There’s so many things I have to tell you, _ad’ika_.” The term of endearment rolls easily off his tongue. It feels right. “Do you remember Paz? He helped save us on Nevarro, he was the big one in blue. Well, I live with him now. We’re together, partners. I think, once you’ve got to know him, he’d like to be your dad too.”

He talks until he runs out of things to say and then he falls asleep with Grogu tucked against his chest, head nestled into his shoulder, where he belongs.

They get home late and Din is slightly worried that their arrival is going to wake Paz, but he finds that the lights are on and his partner is waiting in the kitchen, the ingredients for _uj’alayi_ set out on the counter.

“Din?” Paz calls.

“We’re here.”

Paz pops his head around the doorframe, and promptly puts down whatever it was that he was doing to come over. Din lets him lift his helmet off and accepts the kiss to his forehead with ease as he manipulates Grogu in his arms so that his son has a good view of his partner.

“Grogu,” he says, “this is Paz. Paz, this is my son, Grogu.”

It feels so good to say it out loud and there’s pride in his voice that he wouldn’t restrain for the world. Paz just grins in response and hunches down a little so that he’s on Grogu’s level.

“It’s very nice to meet you Grogu.” He offers out a hand, which Grogu cheerfully pats. “Well, aren’t you a cute little thing. I can see the relation.”

“Paz,” he warns with a smile.

“It’s the truth.”

Din wonders how long the sentiment will last once Grogu gets a hold of the braids in Paz’s hair. He suspects not long.

“Are you tired?” Paz asks.

“Not really, we slept on the ship.”

Paz tucks an arm around his waist to guide him into the kitchen so that Din can see what he was doing. Alongside the ingredients, Paz has some bowls and spoons laid out ready, and a fresh pot of caff is steaming on the table.

“Welcome home,” he says. “How about you go and take off the armour and freshen up, and then we can make the _uj_ cake to tire the little one out? The mixture needs to soak in the syrup overnight anyway.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

At Paz’s urging he hands Grogu over. Any worry that his son might fuss at the separation is eased by the way Paz naturally falls into his role as caretaker, pointing out all the things they’ll need to make the cake as he bounces and sways Grogu in his arms.

Din indulges in watching them for a moment before heading to their room to change into something more comfortable - that he doesn’t mind getting covered in cake batter.

It’s a good thing too because baking with a toddler goes about as well as you might expect. Add in Grogu’s powers and it’s a recipe for a potential disaster. Thankfully most of the flour ends up in the mixing bowl and only a few of the pieces of dried fruit find their way into hungry mouths. Paz is careful to keep Grogu involved, even as they do most of the work between them.

By the time the mixture is ready and soaking in the syrup, Grogu is drooping, eyes blinking closed for longer and longer in Din’s arms.

“Bedtime, I think.”

They retreat to the bedroom and make an attempt to clean up without waking the kid. Din’s careful touch ensures that Grogu barely stirs as he gently cleans the dusting of flour off his head with a wet cloth. It isn’t until Din has settled down on the bed, with Grogu held in his arms, that he realises he probably should have discussed sleeping arrangements with Paz.

He just can’t bear to let Grogu go now that he’s got him back, at least not for the first night.

Thankfully, Paz seems to understand because when he pauses at the end of the bed, its only to ask which side Din would prefer he take. Eventually they work it out so that Paz is lying across from him, one arm tucked behind his own head, the other reaching across Grogu and wrapping lightly around Din’s side.

Curled up there, protector and protected, it's the best night’s sleep Din has had in years.

In the morning, they pour the batter out and get it in the oven with minimal fuss. Grogu watches the operation with great interest.

Paz has been acting a little strange, but Din imagines it’s just down to having to adjust to the reality of having a new person in his life, and lack of caff. He knows that he’s not at his best in the mornings either.

It isn’t until Paz asks for the kid that he thinks his partner might have been acting strange for another reason.

“Can I borrow your son for a bit?”

“Why?”

“I need to show him something.”

Din wants to say no, but this is Paz. He trusts Paz, has vowed to spend the rest of his life with the man, so he hands Grogu over with only a little reluctance.

“We’ll just be in the other room,” Paz says, with a kiss to the top of his head, sensing his need for reassurance.

“Ok.”

Whilst he waits for them to finish whatever it is they’re doing, he busies himself with washing up the bowls and utensils they left soaking in the sink the night before, as the smell of _uj’alayi_ slowly permeates the room.

It is the sound of small running feet that alerts him to their return. He is just fast enough that he is able to turn and scoop up his son before his small form collides with his legs. Hoisting him up high he is rewarded with the sound of Grogu giggling.

Tucking his son into his arms, he listens along as Grogu babbles excitedly in his weird mix of baby noises and half words, nodding at what he hopes are the appropriate points.

Then, Grogu wriggles an arm free and a small wrapped package is thrust into his face with an accompanying noise of determination.

“What’s this, _ad’ika_?” he asks gently, as he takes the offered gift.

He has to slightly rearrange Grogu in order to keep his hold on him and be able to open the slightly messy parcel which, to be honest, could have been either Grogu or Paz’s work. Neither of them were especially neat when it came to the art of wrapping presents.

A long, thin chain falls into his hand and he stares at it, momentarily confused.

Grogu makes another noise and a small clawed hand pats lightly at the piece of metal concealed by the folds of his clothes. He has to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat as he understands the gift’s intent.

“Yes,” he agrees, hoping his voice doesn’t crack. “It is much better than string, isn’t it?”

Grogu’s ears perk up as he bounces happily, still gently hitting the necklace that Din had worn without fail since the day he first let Luke take him.

He wanders over to the table, hearing Paz shift gently to keep them in sight – if there are holos that make an appearance later he won’t even complain - and sets Grogu down on the surface so that he can work the necklace free and untie it. The small ball that had once adorned the controls of the Razor Crest is warm in his hand as he sets the string aside and threads it onto the chain.

He holds it out so that Grogu can examine it. His son plays with it for a moment or two with a smile and a coo before he pushes it back towards him. Wide eyes watch, entranced, until it was once again secure around his neck. This time he doesn’t bother tucking it away.

“Thank you, _ad’ika_ ,” he says, willing the tears in his eyes not to fall as he gives Paz a quick nod of thanks as well over his son’s head, recognising his partner’s work behind the present.

But Grogu still has one more gift to give.

“Ah ba!” he says, holding up his arms insistently.

“You want up, kid?”

He gathers Grogu back into his embrace, suddenly aware that his son has grown, that he doesn’t fit into the crook of his arm in the same way that he used to, and lifts him so that they are eye to eye.

“Eh boo,” Grogu says, hands reaching up to touch his nose. “Boo.”

“Kid?”

“Boo uh.” The kid frowns in concentration and Din feels his heart melt just a little further at the way his face contorts. “Boo-uh, _Buir!”_

Din’s breath stutters in his chest, eyes widening.

Surely he hadn’t heard that right? Had he?

“Did you,” he stumbles over the words, head twisting to look at Paz hoping for, for what exactly? Confirmation? “Did you hear?”

“ _Buir!_ ” Grogu repeats, more confident now.

Din tries to swallow and can’t. He tries to speak, but what comes out is more of a choked noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He holds Grogu close, vaguely aware that his hands are trembling. Tucking his son’s little head into the gap between his shoulder and neck, he clings tight and savours the sound of his name, his title, proclaimed in his son’s voice, as the first tears escape and run hot rivers of joy down his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he manages between gasping breaths. “Yeah, that’s me, _ad’ika_. I’m your _buir_.”

“ _Buir.”_

A hand lands heavy on his other shoulder, rubbing gently. He hadn’t even heard Paz approach.

“You ok, Din?”

He untangles them enough to tilt his head towards Paz and nod.

“I’m,” he pauses, because his cheeks are hurting with the strength of his smile. “I’m _tomur_.” Complete. Whole.

Paz pats his shoulder once and steps back, leaning against the counter as father and son bond once again. Although, Din muses once the shock has faded away enough that he can listen to what his mind is trying to draw his attention to, Paz hadn’t been very surprised by Grogu’s sudden outburst of speech.

“Paz,” he starts and there must have been something of a warning in his tone because his partner straightens and tenses. “Did you?”

Paz doesn’t shuffle or fidget because Paz never does, his every movement has clear purpose, but Din knows him well enough to spot his tells.

So _that_ was why it had taken them so long to retrieve the present.

“You did!”

Paz shrugs as though it was no big deal, as though he hadn’t taken the time to teach Grogu to say the Mando’a word just because he knew how much it would mean to him.

“You _mir’sheb_.”

Paz chuckles and reaches out to ruffle his hair affectionately.

“You’re welcome, _cyar’ika_.”

The taste of _uj’alayi_ smothers his tastebuds with sweet and spice and warmth, and memories of home.

Across from him, Paz looks to be enjoying the moment just as much, eyes closed and a hum of pleasure escaping him. Grogu, sat on the table between them is beginning to become impatient.

“Just a little bit, _ad’ika_ ,” he says as he breaks off a piece and offers it to him. “It’s very sweet.”

Grogu stuffs it in his mouth and they can both see the moment the taste registers because his eyes go wide with wonder, his little mouth works hard to chew, and his hands reach eagerly for more.

“ _Buir_ ,” he pleads when Din stops him, and the title is new enough that it nearly makes him give in.

“Not yet, _ad’ika_ ,” he says instead. “Slowly.”

He waits until Grogu has swallowed the first piece to offer him more. Paz has already polished off his own slice and Din hopes that Grogu doesn’t decide to make Paz his role model when it comes to eating habits.

He lets Paz give him the next piece anyway.

“This is _uj’alayi_.” Paz says as he hands it over. “Can you say that? _Uj’alayi_.”

“Oo ah ee,” Grogu says around a mouth full of food. Din barely restrains from dropping his head into his hands in exasperation at how bad an influence Paz is already.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, _ad’ika_.” he scolds lightly.

Paz just grins at him.

Once his son has finished eating, he takes over again, wary of Paz encouraging bad habits. He breaks off a final piece for Grogu to have, sliding the rest over to his partner to put away.

“We also call it _uj_ cake,” he offers.

“Ooh-juh,” Grogu echoes.

“That’s it! Very good.”

Grogu beams at the praise and accepts the final piece with delight. Opposite him, Paz slides back into his seat and passes him a mug of caff and Din smiles in thanks, content.

What a sight they must make, sat around the table in their humble home. Looking, you wouldn’t think that they were two well-trained and deadly Mandalorians and a fifty-two-year-old toddler Jedi, you would think they were just a slightly quirky family making their way in the galaxy.

And Din? Din’s just fine with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a translations
> 
> ika - diminutive suffix (written as ’ika - also added to a name as a very familiar form, usually affectionate, 'Din'ika' is therefore 'little Din')  
> beroya - bounty hunter  
> vod - brother/sister/comrade  
> Resol’nare - the Six Actions  
> ijaat - honour  
> Keldabe - short for 'Keldabe kiss', itself a slang for 'headbutt', a sign of affection  
> beskar'gam - armour (lit. 'iron skin')  
> al'verde - commander  
> kar'ta - heart  
> uj’alayi / uj cake - a traditional Mandalorian cake, dense, sweet and spicy  
> Manda - the collective soul of Mandalore/the state of being Mandalorian (used here as an exclamation)  
> buir - mother/father/parent  
> ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad - I know your name as my child (the gai bal manda, the adoption vow)  
> ad'ika - little one/son/daughter  
> tomur - complete  
> mir’sheb - smartass  
> cyar’ika - beloved/sweetheart


End file.
